


In the Beginning

by Mouse9



Series: Always 1895 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1895, Crossdressing, F/M, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: Day one of Sherlolly Appreciation Week- Let's Start with the Riding Crop.Sherlolly, but make it Victorian
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: Always 1895 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205948
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32
Collections: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2021





	In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I'm running late here. But they'll all be up by Saturday.

“Anderson!”

The heavy wooden door to the basement morgue opened and the assistant jumped, nervously looking around the basement room until he identified the noise and the person who made it. His nose wrinkled in distain.

“It ‘s you. What do you want?”

“A body. I need to examine skin rigidity to extreme lashings.”

Yellow specked eyes darted around the room. “Hooper wouldn’t like that.”

“Hooper’s not here, is he?”

No sooner than those words were spoken did the door to the office open and Hooper stepped out, dressed impeccable as usual. 

“Get back to work!” he snapped and Anderson scuttled off, leaving the two to eye each other warily. 

“There’s no new cases, Holmes. Can’t imagine why you would grace our halls with your presence.”

“I need a body, Hooper. Recently deceased. I’m testing skin rigidity and bruising.”

A dark eyebrow rose and Hooper was silent. Holmes thought for a moment he would need to argue his case more with the smaller man. Dr. Martin Hooper didn’t allow anything short of strict professionalism in his Morgue and Holmes knew this was pushing the limits.

Still silent, the doctor walked to the back of the cavernous room where the bodies were stored and pulled out a table, rolling it towards the front of the room. 

“Mr. Potts, recently deceased. Worked upstairs in the women’s ward. Right bastard, not sorry he’s dead. You may try your experiments on him. Careful not to ruin the face and extremities too badly, his family needs to take possession of him for the funeral.”

Holmes was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Hooper to acquiesce. The words spoken connected in his mind and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How?”

The rest of the question need not be spoken. _How is he a right bastard? What did he do?_ The eyebrow went up again. Hooper’s hands slid into pockets and the doctor rocked back on their heels.

“As you know, women are hysterical. Don’t know their own mind and therefore do not truly understand when men much more intelligent and experienced than they are merely trying to help them.” 

There was a twinge of sarcasm in Hooper’s voice, combined with barely hidden hostility that told Holmes all he needed to know.

_He hurt them, took liberties in a way that a gentleman would not._

His grip tightened on his walking stick and he nodded. “I see. Then I thank you for the opportunity and I will endeavor to keep the bruising away from the face and neck.”

Hooper nodded once. “See that you do.”

Turning, Hooper walked back to the office. Behind, the sound of clothing rustling as Holmes took off his outer coat and hat and removed the sheet covering Potts. Potts was a letch and a depraved reprobate who took advantage of women and young girls barely out of the nursery. Of course he was never punished given he was a physician and male and the women were ill, hysterical, unintelligent on the ways of modern medicine and therefore their pleas went unheard and unanswered. Privately, Hooper hoped Holmes gave the old man a good thrashing. Potts might be dead and his soul hopefully gone to Hell, but it would be a small good for the body to be beaten as it never was in life.

Just behind the door, Hooper watched as Holmes’ arm lifted, the walking stick held high above his head. The arm arced down and

TWACK!

The solid sound of wood hitting flesh and bone was jarring yet morbidly satisfying. As a man, Dr. Martin Hooper could never say anything about Dr. Potts. Working in the morgue didn’t afford much time around the older man nor did it give access to the patients until after they had passed. As a woman, Dr. Molly Hooper heard the stories, heard these women’s cries. Saw the pain and the bruises inflicted upon them. Felt their anger and frustration of never being heard or even listened too. But she couldn’t do anything because she was a woman and, even if she was a doctor, in her true form, her degree was ignored, and she was treated as little more than a nurse.

The satisfying sound of wood hitting flesh hit once more and Hooper smiled at the sound. The office was dim even with the door open, only one candle on the desk so anyone in the main part of the morgue couldn’t see inside the office. And they couldn’t see if anyone was watching through the space where the door met the wall. Which made it the perfect place for Hooper to stand and watch Holmes beat Pott’s body.

It was poetry in motion. Through the shirt and waist coat, the outline of muscles moving and tendons tightening as he repeatedly struck the corpse was beautiful to watch. Even the violence of the act, juxtaposed with the intensity on his face gave Hooper a moment of pause and an odd ache in the loins. There wasn’t a word ready to be spoken about the feeling watching him gave, but there didn’t need to be. They were barely cordial, and there could never be anything except a distant longing. 

The door to the morgue opened and Stamford walked in followed by a smaller man. By then, Holmes had stopped hitting the body and the show was over for now. Best to get back to work writing up the reports.

After all, there was nothing interesting about men talking in the morgue.


End file.
